


Possible

by Violsva



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Bisexuality, Fluff, M/M, no really it exists
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-12
Updated: 2013-01-12
Packaged: 2017-11-25 06:26:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/636057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Violsva/pseuds/Violsva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a kinkmeme prompt: Holmes KNOWS there's no chance of anything ever happening with Watson because he's not gay. He likes women. It's quite obvious that he likes women. Not gay. Hopeless. An increasingly exasperated Watson manages him to get him up to speed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Possible

**Author's Note:**

> For [this prompt](http://shkinkmeme.livejournal.com/9516.html?thread=23118380#t23118380) on the kinkmeme.

Normally at the beginning of what proves to be an interesting case I am too absorbed and interested to worry over anything else. But after Miss Taylor’s departure my contemplation of her case was interrupted by thoughts of Watson’s reaction, not to the case, but to the woman herself. I was quite aware that jealousy was ridiculous in my position, but reminders of what I knew I could not have were still unwelcome.

He had been dreadfully solicitous, and in response I admit I had been rather the opposite. A pointless action, of course – it only made him feel the need to apologize for me by showing even more concern. He had attempted to pass his motives off as mere sympathy for her situation, of course, but that was an extremely thin blind. I stayed at the window after she left, waiting for his inevitable remark.

“What an extraordinarily attractive young woman,” he said, on cue.

"Was she?” I replied automatically. “I did not observe."

He sighed at my sarcasm – we had played this scene far too often for him to be surprised. "I suppose not. She had lovely eyes, though."

She had had insipid grey eyes, nothing like, for example, his. "Well, the fairer sex is your department, Watson," I said, with perhaps a little too much bitterness.

Watson looked at me with an infuriatingly unreadable expression. "Holmes ... not only the fairer sex," he said quietly.

This was unprecedented. "I'm sorry?"

He looked away. "Forget I mentioned it."

"But what did you mean?"

He laughed a little, ruefully. "You have been very kind, not saying anything before. We needn’t –"

"Not saying _what_ , precisely, Watson?" I am not well known for my patience.

He frowned at me. "But surely you knew, my dearest – no. It is nothing." He began to rise, and I crossed the room to stop him leaving.

"What did you mean, Watson?" I asked. Something about this was vitally important, I knew from his manner. I merely had no idea what.

He gazed up at me, and I knew it had been a mistake to come so close. Surely he would notice my accelerated respiration, my flush, my widened pupils. And perhaps he did.

"This," he whispered, and he pulled my face down gently to his, and kissed me.

It cannot have been a particularly impressive first kiss. I was far too shocked to react at all well. But I must certainly have made my own desires clear somehow, for he pulled away and whispered, " _Holmes_."

"Watson," I said, taken aback, but this did not make sense. "But – you were – Watson –"

He kissed me again.

"Watson," I said, and pushed him away. He knew about my affection for him, then. But I would not be pitied. "You do not want this."

"I – Holmes –"

"You admire women," I said. "Clearly. You need not discomfort yourself merely for –"

He nearly laughed. "It is no discomfort, Holmes," he said, reaching for me.

"But you _are not like me_ , Watson," I said, stepping back. "You talk of women all the time, you cannot want me. Please. Let us forget it."

"Of course I want you!" he said. “Holmes, I have wanted you from a week after I moved in.”

I stared at him. “Allowing for the moment that that is possible, why did you say nothing before?”

“I thought you would never – it doesn’t matter. Holmes, are you saying that _you_ -”

He must already know by this time. “Yes,” I said. “Yes. But I won’t stand for you pretending to reciprocate for my sake. We can go on as -”

“Pretending!” he said. “I like that. Is this -” He strode forward and kissed me again, his lips sliding against mine for a second and then opening. His tongue flicked gently against my lips, and I kissed him back without being able to think or stop myself. I had dreamed of this, without meaning to, without thinking I ever could, and now...

It went on for some time. Watson pulled away at last, his arms still wrapped around me. “Is that,” he whispered, “pretending, Holmes?”

For a moment I couldn’t speak. “John,” I said at last, then gathered my wits. “Then the women – that was just for show?”

He blinked. “Not for show – that is, I may have exaggerated it a bit. But since I thought you would not – well, I thought I might as well look elsewhere.”

“But – elsewhere to _women_?”

“Yes,” he said, looking slightly confused. “I do like both, you know.”

“What?” It was not, perhaps, a particularly articulate response. But then, he was still holding me.

“Both women and men. Not, I hope, that it matters from now on.”

The implications of that last sentence were too tempting to contemplate. “But surely that’s not possible.”

“Not _what_? Of course it is.” Watson looks rather charming when confused and irritated, but I dislike the reaction when I am making perfect sense.

“ _I_ ’ve never wanted women,” I said. “And it is clear enough that most of the world cannot understand desires like mine.” And his, I hoped.

“You, being illogical?” he asked, smiling. “Merely because you have not experienced something yourself does not mean it is impossible, my dear Holmes.”

I had nothing to say to that. He smiled. “It is entirely possible,” he said. “Merely because I found Miss Taylor charming does not mean that I do not want you, Holmes, and would not happily stay here with you forev– that is, for as long as you want me.”

It was more than I had ever thought possible. “Not here in the sitting room, I hope,” I said. I would find a way of returning his sentiment when I was not so scattered.

“Well.” He looked up at me, shy suggestion in his eyes. “Where would you find more suitable?”

I took his hand, and we found my bedroom very suitable indeed.


End file.
